


Better Than Basic Cable

by Allecto



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fisting, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Lapdance, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rimming, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allecto/pseuds/Allecto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve swallows. The club was nothing special. High end, probably, because everything Tony does is high end, but—vulgar. It was all still strangers taking their clothes off and dancing for money.</p><p>It wasn’t Bucky, who knew every way to make Steve hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Basic Cable

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [reserve](http://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve) and [cinaea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cinaea) for the beta. *mwah*

“We’re not going to a strip club,” Bucky had said. His voice was flat but there was a glint in his eyes that Steve remembered from 1944, a glint that said _this is final_ , said _I may’ve been born in the gutter, but I can still be a gentleman_.

Bucky’d always been like that, from the moment he and Steve had first become—well, _Bucky and Steve_. He’d take girls dancing, drag Steve into it too, ply them with dates and drinks and then give them his arm and walk them home. Sometimes he got pulled into a good night kiss, but he always told Steve about it after, full of apologies. And he never, not once, got handsy.

Still. 

“It’s Tony’s bachelor party. Least we can do is support him.”

Bucky had snorted, and Steve had gone without him, because Tony was his friend, too. Because it wasn’t 1944 anymore.

He had gone, and now he's back, jacket off, hair mussed, and Bucky is standing in their living room, in the dark, waiting.

“You enjoy the show, Steve?”

“Bucky—”

“Did. you. enjoy. the. show?”

Steve sighs, crosses the room to sit down. “It was just a show, Buck. I didn’t _do_ anything—no one did. Tony just wanted a show.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky says, pushing Steve back against his arm chair. “Tony wanted a show. Tony wanted a— _you_ wanted a show, Steve, that’s what you mean.” He straddles Steve, holds him down. Steve could stand if he wanted to—probably—if he put his muscle into it, but Bucky’s thighs press his legs down and his metal hand pushes Steve’s chest back and, “you want a show, Steve?”

Steve swallows. The club was nothing special. High end, probably, because everything Tony does is high end, but—vulgar. It was all still strangers taking their clothes off and dancing for money. 

It wasn’t Bucky, who knew every way to make Steve hot.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, presses his right hand to the bulge in Steve’s pants. “Yeah, you want a show.” He leans in, whispers right in Steve’s ear, “tell me how much you want it.”

“Please,” Steve says, can’t stop himself, “Buck, I want—I—please.”

Bucky laughs, then, and lifts Steve’s hands from where they’ve settled on his waist. “Okay, baby, don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want, but you gotta be good for me, sweetheart, no touching. That’s the rules, I can touch you just as much as I want, but you, you just sit back and take it. You can’t do that, well.” He stands up, letting Steve go. “Security’ll just have to toss you outta the room, you can’t do that.”

Steve runs his hands over his thighs, rests them on the arms of the chair. “I can.”

“I know you can,” Bucky says, “‘cause I know what you want,” and he pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion. The skin around his metal arm is scarred, puckered, but Steve hardly sees that anymore, except as a badge of honor. Steve sees the muscles Bucky’s built, how he took what years of work on the docks and in the army gave him and honed it, forged it. He sees how Bucky’s nipples peak in the slightly chill air of the room. Bucky unsnaps the button on his jeans, unzips the fly, and he’s not wearing anything underneath, just like during the war, and Steve can just see a hint of dark, curly hair and soft, silky skin and oh, he wants to touch, but he wants what Bucky’s gonna give him even more, so he swallows and grips the chair arms, and Bucky smirks, ‘cause Bucky knows Steve better than anyone.

“Trusting you now,” he says, and after that Steve’d die before touching.

Bucky straddles him again, just at the edge of his knees, and swings his hips in a circle, that triangle of skin and hair coming so close Steve could almost taste it, so close he can see the muscles bunching and relaxing in Bucky’s stomach, before they fall away, fall back, and Bucky laughs, runs a hand down Steve’s chest, and the metal is cold where a finger slips through between buttons and brushes Steve’s skin. Bucky holds on around the button and bends back, back, his other hand touching the floor, and he tugs Steve over him, and then the button snaps, and it’s all Steve can do to keep from falling forward onto Bucky, but he’s not allowed to touch.

“Good boy,” Bucky murmurs, rolling his hips again and curling up, pushing Steve into the chairback. “Knew you’d be good for me, baby.” He leans in, his chest brushing Steve’s shirt, and tangles fingers in Steve’s hair. He’s so gorgeous, like this, Steve wants to pull him closer, to surge up into that mouth he never stops moving. He wants to kiss him, everywhere, that mouth and his shoulder and—but he can’t. He can’t, so he sits and lets Bucky tug his hair and touch him and he doesn’t move, at all. “Such a good boy, Stevie, sweetheart, yeah, and you want so badly not to be, don’t you?” 

His hips make little circles against Steve’s groin, not quite touching. “Don’t you, baby doll?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “yeah, I—whatever you want, Bucky—”

Bucky pulls another button off Steve’s shirt, metal fingers popping it off as easily as a grape from a stem. Steve wants to complain—it’s a good shirt, a suit shirt—but Bucky slips his fingers inside, rubs a cold metal thumb over Steve’s nipple, and whatever he was going to say is choked off in a gasp. 

“That’s right,” Bucky says, grinding his hips closer, his thumb sending sparks through Steve’s chest. “You just watch and sit and let me—” he twists, and Steve groans, tightens his hold to keep from moving. Bucky licks his lips, licks _Steve’s_ lips, and Steve’s mouth falls open, but he doesn’t lean in, holds himself rigidly still and is rewarded when Bucky clasps Steve’s face in his right hand and tugs him in, licks inside him, warm and demanding, before pulling back entirely. He stands, pushes his pants off and undoes Steve’s just enough to free his dick and keep his legs still trapped.

“Buck.”

“Sorry, baby, no audience participation,” Bucky says, making quick work of the rest of Steve’s buttons. “You just sit there and be good, doll, just like you have been. Show’s not over yet.” 

When he sits down again, Bucky’s facing away from Steve, his ass pressing up against Steve’s cock, and then he bends forward till his hands are flat on the floor and rises up on his toes to brush Steve’s chest. Their dicks touch, and Bucky swings away again, sliding forward along the length of Steve’s shaft to nestle it against his buttcheeks. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, you like that, don’t you, sugar? Big boy like you, just sitting there, watching it, don’t you?” He does it again, and again, sliding up and down the length of Steve’s dick until Steve groans. He can stop himself from moving, just about, but he can’t keep the sounds back, and Bucky laughs. “Mmm, you like it, I can feel how much you like it, how much you wanna fuck me. Don’t you, Stevie, baby, you want to reach out with those big hands the docs gave you and hold my cheeks apart and push in, don’t you? That’s what you want, isn’t it? To just fuck and fuck and feel how hot I am inside, how warm and open, don’t you, baby? You want to fuck me something awful, fill me up with your come and your cock and just stuff me full, but you ain’t gonna, Stevie, you ain’t even gonna try, and you know why, don’t you?”

Steve’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but he answers, has to, can’t help himself, “Yeah, Buck, I know.”

“You ain’t gonna,” Bucky says, pushing off the ground and resting on Steve’s dick, leaning his back against Steve’s chest, “‘cause the minute you move to touch me, what’s gonna happen?”

“I gotta leave the room.”

“That’s right,” Bucky says. He wriggles against Steve’s chest before standing suddenly, swinging around to face him again. “‘Cause you wanted a show, didn’t you, Steve, and you know what that means?”

“I don’t get to touch,” Steve says hoarsely, and Bucky nods.

“You don’t get to touch,” he says, sliding two fingers between the belt loops on Steve’s pants and tugging until he stands. “But I do.” Bucky finally, finally pushes Steve’s pants off. He slides Steve’s shirt off his shoulders, down to his wrists, and spins him, still holding the shirt, so he can open the cuffs.

“Hands and knees.”

Steve’s down before he even realizes it, palms flat on the floor, knees spread wide. His dick is so hard it’s dripping, and Bucky runs a hand up and down it just once, just enough to laugh and whisper, “look how wet you are, baby, so wet for me. You’ve been so good, just sitting and watching, ain’tcha, doll, letting me touch you, and you’re gonna keep being good, too, just for me, so I can touch you all over, aint’cha, Stevie, baby? Gotta get your show’s worth, so you’re just gonna stay right here and let me do whatever I want, let me fuck you with my fingers, if I want, with my tongue, let me shove my dick right up inside you, aint’cha? You’re just gonna open those legs and take it, won’t you, sweetheart?”

Steve chokes off a sob, and Bucky slaps his ass. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He walks away for a minute, two, three, and Steve stays where he is, arms trembling. He’s rewarded when Bucky comes back, tossing a bottle of lube from hand to hand. “Jarvis,” he says, running a hand through Steve’s hair and down his back, “you got cameras on this room?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Don’t save the recordings, but put ‘em up, on the tv.”

Bucky squats down, grips Steve’s hair in one hand and his chin in the other, and raises his head. “You just keep looking at that tv,” he says. “You wanted a show, you just keep watching.”

Steve looks and watches as Bucky stands and walks around behind him. Arousal spikes through him; his eyes are glassy, pupils blown, his skin flushed and his dick red and full, so full, still dripping on the floor. The tv has multiple pictures, and when Bucky puts the lube down, reaching out to cup Steve’s ass and pull his cheeks apart, he can see his hole, puckered and waiting. He can see Bucky, breathing on it, the way the hairs on his ass stand up. He can see Bucky’s eyes, dark and needy, almost as needy as Steve’s, and that hunger roils inside him all over again. He should be ashamed, probably, of how hot this makes him, how his dick jerks when Bucky squeezes his ass, but he isn’t. He isn’t at all, just wet and wanton and so, so hungry for more.

“You keep watching,” Bucky says, and runs the flat of his tongue over Steve’s hole, and Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away if he wanted to. Bucky’s tongue is warm and wet, and he blows a cold breath of air across Steve’s hole after, making him shiver. He laps at the rim over and over, and Steve locks his elbows and legs to keep from squirming, wants to drop his head and lean into Bucky’s mouth and wants to stare at the tv, at his own face and Bucky’s—god, the concentration and _joy_ on Bucky’s face as he loosens Steve up, tastes a part of him Steve would never share with anyone else. It feels good, so good, little bolts of pleasure each time Bucky jabs his tongue inside, but oh, the look on Bucky’s face when he takes a new grip, presses his thumbs to the edges of Steve’s hole so he can push his tongue inside, all the way, can curl it up inside Steve, and he _loves_ it, and Steve can’t help moaning.

“That’s right,” Bucky says, pulling back a little and nipping at the inside of Steve’s thigh. “That’s right, baby, you just watch and enjoy your show, and don’t you move at all. You just let me do what I want, let me take you, all of you, however I want, honey.” 

“Bucky, Buck, please, _please_ —” Steve’s voice is strained, broken, and he doesn’t care. He has to speak, has to do something, and speaking’s the only thing he _can_ do. 

“Mmm, yeah, you just stay right there and be good for me, Stevie, be a good boy and take it for me, yeah. Bet I could make you come just like this, couldn’t I, just by licking at you, you want me that bad, baby, don’t you? Maybe I’ll do just that, give you what you need, what you want, and then when you’ve blown your load all over the floor, and it’s still not enough, I’ll fuck you good and hard. You just take it for me, baby doll, you stay right there and watch yourself take it.”

He runs a hand down to rub behind Steve’s balls, then plunges back in, his tongue stabbing over and over, long strokes where he pushes his whole tongue inside, wriggles it around, and short jabs that barely register, just enough to make Steve want more. He’s so hard, and Bucky feels so good, and he fucks Steve with his tongue again and again and again and reaches down to grip Steve’s dick along the shaft, and tugs on Steve’s foreskin, once, twice, pushes the thumb of his other hand inside, next to his tongue, and Steve comes with a shout and—by the grace of _something_ —doesn’t move.

Bucky strokes him through his climax, then pulls back, biting Steve’s ass on his way. “Look at you,” he says, and Steve’s looking. He’s debauched, it’s the only word for it; he’d painted his chest with some of his come, and he’s still half-hard and shaking, and when Bucky pours lube on his metal hand, he groans. 

Bucky presses two fingers inside him right away, and there’s a little burn, but mostly Steve wants more, wants to be filled, and Bucky must know ‘cause he chuckles. “You just let me get this, baby,” he says, gripping Steve’s hip with his right hand and pushing his fingers in and out, in and out. “I got you.” He spreads them inside Steve, as far apart as he can, then brings them together and reaches, brushing up against his prostate and making him cry out. Steve bites his lip, concentrates instead on what Bucky looks like, the way his fingers disappear inside Steve’s body, how he licks his lips and meets Steve’s eye on the television. “I got you,” he repeats, and pushes another finger in.

It’s still not enough, but Steve isn’t going to move, not for anything. He stares at the tv, at his body hungrily pulling Bucky’s fingers inside, at how his eyes widen and his teeth press into his lower lip every time Bucky sends sparks shooting through him, at his dick, hard again, jumping when Bucky twists his hand. He keeps watching the tv, and Bucky just keeps watching his fingers, keeps curling them and wiggling, one two three, and curling again, sliding them out. 

He pours more lube on, twists his wrist until his pinkie pushes in with the others, and it’s almost enough now, almost, except in the ways it isn’t nearly enough at all. In the way where he wants Bucky’s dick, wants to feel Bucky come inside him, the hot spurt of seed and the frantic way Bucky gets right beforehand when he loses control and pistons in and out, helpless to stop himself. Even when Steve was small and Bucky’s hands left bruises that lasted more than an hour or two, he never could stop himself. He was always repentant, after, and Steve always coaxed him into a next time anyway, ‘cause he loves it, loves Bucky and loves that he can do that to Bucky. 

And then there’s the way he wants the rest of Bucky’s hand, wants that shiny fist inside him, deep as Bucky’ll push it, wants to walk funny tomorrow even with the serum and wake up still feeling Bucky, and Bucky—. Bucky gets the lube again and presses, slow and steady, till the knuckle of his thumb slips past Steve’s rim and he wants to cry, it’s so good.

“I got you, baby,” Bucky says, and on the tv his arm is covered in lube, just _covered_ , and Steve’s hole is tight around it, but he keeps going, just keeps going, and his eyes are almost as glassy as Steve’s, and his arm is thick and strong. Steve’s eyes slip closed, he can’t help it, Bucky’s shooting white sparks off behind his lids, and it’s just enough and too much, and he comes again, speared on Bucky’s arm, when he opens his hand inside Steve, and then again when he’s pulling out.

Bucky wipes his hand with a towel, pets the small of Steve’s back ‘till his shaking settles some. “Shh, baby, you’ve been so good,” he says, “such a good boy for me, Steve, and now you’re gonna let me fuck you and fill you up with my spunk and my dick, you’re gonna let me do that, and you’re gonna watch it, watch us, and then when you’ve done that I’ll let you rest, sweetheart, doesn’t that sound good?”

It does, it sounds amazing, and Steve’s come three times but none of it was with Bucky, pressed up close, over him and in him and right _there_. “Please,” Steve says, “please Buck, I need you, I—”

“I know you do, doll, it’s okay.” Bucky presses a kiss between Steve’s shoulder blades. “I know, baby, sweet baby, I know.” 

He rubs Steve’s arms, drapes himself over Steve’s back, and slips inside, quick and easy. It hurts a little—it’s all so much—but it’s good, too. It’s _Bucky_. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so loose right now, you just took my arm like a champ, didn’t you, but you’re gonna squeeze up around me, now, sweetheart, that’s right, just like that, show me how much you like having my dick in you, even more than my hand, fuck, yeah, baby, feels good, don’t it, better than anything, when I fuck you with my cock, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

“So good, Buck.”

On the tv Steve’s dick is starting to get hard again, and his legs are trembling, but Bucky wraps an arm around his waist, holds him up and puts both their weight on his left hand. Sometimes, sometimes he’ll lean back on his knees and pull Steve into his lap, and Steve’ll fuck himself on Bucky’s dick, slow at first then hard and fast the way Bucky likes it, the way he only really lets go for at the end, but Steve’s not allowed to move this time, not allowed to touch, so he stays on his hands and knees, and Bucky rolls his hips, long and languid, making both of them groan.

“Buck.”

“I know,” Bucky says, watching his face on the tv again and grinning. “Feels good, baby, for both of us. I know you like it like this, even when you’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday, I know. You want me in you, Steve, for as long as you can get me, but baby, sweetheart, you’re always gonna get me. You’re stuck with me, doll face, I ain’t never gonna let you go, just you and me, like this, forever, fuck, baby, and when your body fixes it so you’d hardly know I was here, well, I’m just gonna fuck you again, that’s all. With toys, sometimes, or my tongue or my hand or my dick, ‘cause I know you like that best, baby, and I like it too, how hot you are inside. Even when you were—before—not even a buck sopping wet, had to be a buck for you, didn’t I, even then, you were so cold in the winter, Stevie, shivering on the outside and inside, when I opened you up, you were so hot, baby, and all for me.” 

Steve nods, he can move that much, and it’s true, it is, he’s hot for Bucky, always has been. Hot, and needy, and there’s no one else he’d open like this for, no one else who could reduce him to the quivering mess on the tv, lips swollen, eyes dark and hungry, chest splattered with come. No one but Bucky. 

Bucky circles his hips the other way, then pulls almost all the way out before pushing in with a quick snap. “All for me, Stevie, and you were a sight then, with those big eyes taking up nearly all your face, and that big ol’ chip on your shoulder and that great big heart ain’t nobody saw but me, did they, baby doll? All for me, you were, and you still are, don’t go thinking you can share, not this, not this part. Not how hot you get, how wet, and how that great big body the docs gave you to match your heart, how that body does exactly what I want it to.”

Bucky speeds up, thrusting in and out at a speed neither of them could’ve taken before, and he moves his hand from Steve’s waist back to his hip to hold him still, as if Steve would move. Steve can’t go anywhere, can only stay there, solid, for Bucky to rock in and out of of. On the tv, Bucky’s face goes from lust to love, and he ducks his head, kisses Steve’s shoulder.

“Come for me, baby, please, you gonna? One last time. Touch yourself for me and come again, so sweet and pretty like I know you can.”

Steve wraps a hand around his cock and strokes up and down, no hope of matching Bucky’s pace but it doesn’t matter, he’s ready anyway. He’s hardly finished the last aftershocks, coating his hand, when Bucky growls and shoots hot spurts inside Steve, and only the metal arm keeps him from collapsing completely onto Steve’s back.

He pulls out after a minute, and Steve can’t quite hold back a mewl of disappointment; he feels so empty, now. He can’t even support his own weight, really, can’t take any more, but he still wants it, wants Bucky there, inside him.

“Shh, baby, I know,” Bucky says. “C’mere,” and he sits, tugs Steve into his arms and kisses him. “You were so good, Stevie, so good, I know. You just gotta be good a little longer, sweetheart, just so we can get you into bed. Can you do that for me?” 

He pulls them both up, keeps an arm around Steve’s waist until they’re at the bed and he can manhandle Steve beneath the covers. “Stay right there now, baby, I’m gonna get a washcloth, okay?”

Steve mumbles assent, but he doesn’t really register it. He knows Bucky must go, ‘cause he feels the washcloth cleaning him gently. Then Bucky’s there in bed next to him; Steve tucks his head under Bucky’s chin just like he used to before. Bucky’s arms are gentle around him, even the metal one.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers into the top of Steve’s head. 

“Love you,” Steve says back, just before sleep claims him.

When Tony asks the next morning what boring, old-person thing Bucky did instead of going to his party, Bucky shrugs. “Mostly I watched tv,” he says, and thumps Steve on the back when he chokes on his oatmeal.


End file.
